The Journals of Jack Robertson-Book One-1865 to 1867

By Gary R Reed

Mom! Dad! I found a really cool new book. It's about a boy, Jack Robertson, who lived 150 years ago. He tells all about how to build log cabins, collect maple syrup, and train wild horses. Jack meets Indians, outlaws, and greedy bankers. He and his friends have all kinds of adventures trying to outwit them. Jack is very good at making plans and he can find a worthy moral in every adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary R Reed
• Release date: Jul 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476430843

Gary R Reed

Gary R Reed resides in Lansing Michigan with his lovely wife Sandy. His six children and 18 grandchildren are scattered to the four winds. He is a former banker, broker, CFO, entrepreneur, educator, and with the publication of his novels, he has become a storyteller and a wild eyed dreamer.Gary is a professional student with degrees in philosophy, psychology, and education. His passion is American history and that has led him to write fictionalized accounts of his real-life ancestors who have fought in the American Revolution, the Civil War, the American Indian Wars, World War I, and (perhaps soon) World War III.Gary is a past "Chief Inspector" of the Sherlock Holmes Society "The Greek Interpreters of East Lansing" and an active member of the Society for Creative Anachronism, having received honors as a Bard and a Thrown Weapons Champion.Gary is the author of the three part "Journals of Jack Robertson" series,"Robertson's War 1914", "The Academy", "Sanctuary", "The Truth about Santa Claus", "Kirtland 1833" and "If I Ruled the World" that will soon appear in a Smashwords Edition.

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THE JOURNALS OF JACK ROBERTSON

BOOK ONE-1865 – 1867

By GARY R REED

COPYRIGHT 2017 GARY R REED

SMASHWORDS EDITION

This book is based on actual historical events that are fictionalized. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter One………………CHRISTMAS

Chapter Two………………THE NEW YEAR

Chapter Three…………….VALENTINES

Chapter Four………………MAPLE MOON

Chapter Five………………MISS THOMPSON

Chapter Six..…… …………SUMMERTIME

Chapter Seven.……………DEMON

Chapter Eight………..........COUNTY FAIR

Chapter Nine…….…..........JACK AND THE BEANSTALK

Chapter Ten……………….HALLOWEEN

Chapter Eleven……………THANKSGIVING

Chapter Twelve…………...TECUMSEH

Chapter Thirteen………….KIWANIS TRAIL

Chapter Fourteen…………ADRIAN

Chapter Fifteen…………...TOLEDO

Chapter Sixteen…………..MICHIGAN SOUTHERN & NORTHERN INDIANA

Chapter Seventeen………..THE SOILED DOVE

Chapter Eighteen………….CHICAGO

Chapter Nineteen………….BELLE

Chapter Twenty…………...SNOWBOUND

Chapter Twenty-One……..MORMONS

Chapter Twenty-Two.…….BO

Chapter Twenty-Three……THE SHOOTIST

Chapter Twenty-Four.…….BRIDGET AND THE BULL

Chapter Twenty-Five……..THE MISSIONARY

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About the Author

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An Excerpt from the Journals of Jack Robertson Book Two

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Other Titles by Gary R Reed

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Chapter One

CHRISTMAS

December 1865

The winter of 1865 was a hard one in our corner of the Northwoods. It snowed before Thanksgiving and hardly stopped till Spring. The men that were coming home from the Southern Rebellion were home. Our Daddy was not with them. We'd gotten no word that he'd been killed, but he wasn’t home either. People started saying that he'd run off. Momma’s folks never cared for Daddy much and they were the first to say that he’d run away. Momma wouldn’t hear it, so we didn’t go to Grandma's house for Thanksgiving. Now Christmas was come and we were alone. Momma, me, Jessie, Johnny, and little Jenny were doing our best just to stay alive.

We had sold off all the stock except Molly, the cow, and a few chickens. We had corn and wheat enough to last till spring but that was it. The johnnycakes, bread and butter, milk, cheese, and eggs were all we had. Well that isn’t exactly true. There was always the occasional chicken that would end up in the pot. It was just such a chicken that we’d been saving for Christmas dinner. I could almost smell it already, slow roasting in the oven, with cornbread stuffing and apple pie. Momma sure could make pies. She would cut sweet butter right into the crust and it’d get all golden brown and the filling would be all appley and sweet because she mixed in some honey. Momma didn’t use sugar 'cause sugar cost good money but honey was there for the taking, if you were brave enough.

Molly was my job. Twice a day I’d milk her, see that she got hay and water, and take her out to pasture. I loved old Molly. In the mornings when it was frosty cold, I'd sit there on the three-legged stool and bury my face in her warm side. The hot milk would make splashing sounds in the bucket and I’d talk to Molly about plans and such. Molly was a good listener and I never minded tending to her because she gave so much. Sometimes it seemed to me that she was sorta like Jesus. Always giving us things and never asking for more than that we should be kind to each other. I was careful with Molly. I never let weeds get in her hay. She got fresh water every day. I kept her stall mucked out real good and put in lots of clean straw in case she wanted to lay down. I am careful with Jesus too. I say my prayers and read my scriptures and I keep the Commandments. I don’t sass my Momma and I try to be kind to my brother and sisters.

My sister Jessie is ten and it’s her job to gather wild food. She's good at it too. She can find nuts and berries like nobody’s business. And she will follow a honeybee for miles. I don’t like bees one bit but Jessie treats them like her long-lost friends. When she comes across one, she hums her Honey song. She says they like it and they lead her right to the hive. When they get there, she moves real quiet and careful. She takes a forked stick and eases it in the entrance to the hive so slow. When she gets to the honeycomb, she twirls it around and brings out a big glob of honey. She never takes so much that the bees go hungry and we have honey in our house all winter long.

Johnny is five and little Jenny just turned four. They don’t hardly remember Daddy. I don’t know what we're going to do if he doesn’t come home. I’m twelve this year and it's hard to be the man of the house when you're only twelve.

We don’t have a gun for hunting because daddy took it with him to the war. But I’m pretty good at chucking rocks at rabbits. You can’t hardly hunt rabbits in the deep snow. All their runs are covered and their fur turns so white that you can’t barely see them on the rare times they do come out. There were no rabbits to be had at Christmastime and that one old chicken was looking mighty important.

So it was that Christmas Eve. The little ones were in their night things and I had just finished chores. Suddenly Old Buck was on his feet and staring at the door. Thinking he needed out, I threw open the door to find the biggest man I had ever seen, standing on our porch. I was trying to decide whether to slam the door or sic the dog on him when he stuck out a huge paw of a hand and said, Howdy.

I took his hand. I don’t know why I did. I just didn’t seem to have any choice. Old Buck wandered over and sniffed him a time or two, then started wagging his tail. If he was all right with Old Buck I guess he was all right with me.

He welcomed himself into our house. He shook the snow off his clothes and settled down at our table. I was about to say something about that when Momma gave me the evil eye and so I held my peace. This man was a stranger, but he was about the friendliest stranger I had ever seen. He asked Momma if he might stay a while. He and his team had about used themselves up in the deep snow. He had cash money and he offered to pay for a meal and some grain for his horses. Momma insisted that he spend the night! I couldn’t believe my ears. My Momma was inviting a strange man into our home for the night. On top of all that, the man had his eye on our chicken and Momma's apple pie.

That chicken will do nicely ma'am; that and some of your apple pie. He spun a silver dollar onto the table and Momma caught her breath. A silver dollar was ‘bout a day's wages for a man in the Northwoods and we desperately needed the cash. I was fixing to tell him that that chicken and the pie were worth a lot more than a dollar when Momma shooed me outside to tend his horses. I went grumbling off through the snow. His team was beautiful; two black horses, glistening with sweat and snowflakes, stamping the ground like they were impatient to be somewhere. I led the two of them into the barn. It wouldn’t do to put them away wet so I fetched a couple of burlap bags and commenced to wiping them down. I gave them hay and fresh water and grain just because they were so beautiful.

When I got back in the house, the man was sipping cider and eating bread and cheese. Thank you for taking such good care of my team, boy.

My name is Jack. How’d you know I took good care of your team?

You were gone a long time; long enough to do a good job.

That's a fine pair of horses. It wouldn’t be right not to take good care of them.

Momma fed me bread and milk and sent me up to bed. I lay there for a while until the chicken came out of the oven all golden and dripping with juices. The man commenced to eat, and eat, and eat. That chicken was gone. The pie was gone. A whole loaf of bread and a gallon of cider were gone too. The only one who got a bite was Buck and he only got the bones.

It just isn’t fair, you try to be kind to folks and they take advantage. No good deed ever goes unpunished. My mother must have heard me grumbling because the next thing I knew she was cuddled up next to me and telling me that God always blesses the cheerful giver.

The man threw another log on the fire. The smoke from the log circled his head and drifted up to the loft where I lay. It smelled soft like the end of a summer's day and clean like the perfume that my teacher wears. There was the freshness of new mown hay, and the rich way the earth smells when a light rain settles the dust. There was the warmth of wood smoke and the taste of something good cooking over an open fire. It was so wonderful that I drifted off to the sweetest sleep I can ever remember.

I woke up with the sun shining in my eyes. I hadn’t slept that late since daddy went off to war. Molly would be having a fit at not being milked. I pulled on my shirt and pants and slid down the ladder to find Momma, sitting at the table and weeping.

Momma, what's wrong?

Momma didn’t say a word. She just pointed around the room. The naked Christmas tree that I had cut and stood in the corner was covered with ribbons and bows. Apples and oranges, candy canes and cookies hung from every branch. A star, like the star of Bethlehem, topped the tree.

Oh Momma, it's beautiful. How did you...

She continued to point. The spot where our chicken had hung was now occupied by the biggest turkey I have ever seen. Bowls were filled with potatoes, onions, and other vegetables. Blueberries, raspberries, peaches and things that no one had seen in months were stacked on the stove; enough to make the fillings for a dozen pies.

I pulled on my boots and I ran to the barn. Our visitor and his team were gone. But I was not alone. A man was sleeping in the hay. Old Buck began to bark and leap around like a puppy. The man woke and stood up. He was a soldier in a crisp new uniform and shiny black boots, with a red ribbon and a gold medal around his neck.

Daddy? I ran to his open arms and buried my face in his shirt, tears rolling down my cheeks.

The man looked around in amazement, Son, somethings not right. Where did this new uniform come from? I slept out here in the barn last night ‘cause I didn’t want you children to see me in my bandages and rags. I’ve been a prisoner of war for a mighty long time and I’ve walked a mighty long way to get home for Christmas. Where did you get these clothes?

It wasn’t me daddy. We had a visitor. I think it was Santa Claus or maybe it was an angel. I don’t rightly know if there is a difference.

***

I’ve been thinking about this some. What is a miracle? Is it some kind of magic or just something we don’t understand? I don’t know how our visitor did all those wonderful things in our house last night. I don’t know who our visitor was; he might have been Santa Claus. He surely was an angel. All good things come from God and angels are God’s messengers. What happened in our house was a good thing.

Some people say that Santa Claus is pushing the Christ Child out of Christmas. I disagree. I think that Santa Claus is an example of everything that is good and right in Christmas. If I was God and I wanted to send the world a Christmas Angel, it would surely be someone just like Santa Claus.

***

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Chapter Two

THE NEW YEAR

January 1866

You mustn’t tell! I warned, looking hard at my sister. The woods was still and deep. There were scattered pines in the hardwoods; enough pines to provide little pockets of shelter from the snow. School was still some ways off and I was breaking trail with Jessie following in my footsteps. The snow was powdery and light the way cold snow often is, but from time to time there would be a place where the sunshine had warmed the top enough to form a frozen crust that crunched under my boots before dropping them into the powder below.

Why can’t I tell? Jessie kicked at the snow, her boot nearly flying off her foot.

Because it's sacred, I explained with exasperation.

Why is it secret? Jessie demanded.

It's not secret, it's sacred. I knew that it wasn’t going to be easy for Jessie to keep quiet. I almost wished I could have brought Molly the cow to school with me that morning. Molly wouldn’t have said anything.

Why is it sacred? Jessie demanded, even louder.

Why do you want to tell? I stopped my stomping through the deep snow and turned to face Jessie.

Santa Claus had dinner at our house and you don’t want me to tell anyone! Jessie stood with her hands on her hips, her long curls bouncing with agitation.

Jessie, no one will believe you. I said, shaking my head.

Yes they will, when they see this! Jessie produced a bright, round, juicy orange from her pocket.

Oh Jessie! You can’t show that to the kids at school. Most of the kids at school had never even seen an orange and the ones that had knew that they were more expensive than our family could ever afford.

Why not?

Because it's going to make the other children feel bad.

Polly Palmer will be there showing-off her new coat. She doesn’t care how anybody else feels. I could see tiny tears in the corners of Jessie's eyes.

How do you know she's going to have a new coat?

You know as well as I do that she gets a new coat every Christmas. And her mama gives our mama her old things and I have to wear 'em. That's how I know. She was shouting now and her tears were leaving frosty tracks on her cheeks in the cold January air.

Oh Jessie. I know Polly is awfully proud of her new things every year and I know it hurts you to wear her castoffs but they do look good on you and there are plenty of girls who'd be happy to have ‘em.

They can have ‘em. I'd rather go to school naked than to wear Polly's old things. Jessie started unbuttoning buttons and I began to think that she might be serious. It was time to roll out the big gun.

Jessie, what do you think Jesus would have you do? It was a low blow for someone who was angry and crying.

That's not fair. Polly doesn’t care what Jesus would do. Jessie stopped unbuttoning and settled for wiping her nose on the sleeve of Polly's old coat.

Jessie, we can’t be responsible for what Polly does or doesn’t do. We can only be responsible for ourselves. Someday Polly will have to answer for the things that she does. But I don’t want you to have to answer for why you acted like Polly. I put an arm around Jessie and held her close.

Oh Jack, I don’t want to be mean. I just want everybody to know how wonderful it was. Jessie looked up at me. I looked into her eyes and saw the goodness of her heart.

That's why we can’t tell, Jessie. It was so wonderful that the other children might think that God doesn’t love them as much. It happens that way sometimes. One person gets a blessing and instead of being happy for that person, we wonder why we didn’t get a blessing too. And the next thing you know we're blaming God and saying he doesn’t love us and so we're not going to love him either. We can’t be responsible for someone not loving God, can we? I could feel Jessie softening as she relaxed in my arms.

Why us? Daddy coming home from the war was a miracle enough; why all the wonderful food and Christmas things? I knew how Jessie felt. I’d asked myself the same questions over and over again.

I don’t know Sis. Daddy came home in bandages and rags. Maybe God figured he deserved better than that. We had no money and hardly any food, so what kind of a homecoming would that have been? I could tell by her furrowed eyebrows that she wasn’t buying it.

There's a whole lot of families that are worse off than us and their daddies never came home at all. Why us? She asked like she expected me to know.

I'm not sure, Jessie. Maybe it's 'cause the Good Lord expects more from us than from other folks. He helps us knowing that we'll help someone else when He needs us to. It sounded right to me, like maybe I had just said something that was true.

Who are we supposed to help? Jessie's breath made a silver plume in the frozen air.

You'll know Jessie. Someone will touch your heart and you'll just want to touch theirs back. We walked on in silence for a while, the thin January sun providing light but no warmth.

It had better not be Polly Palmer, Jessie said with determination.

***

One of the nice things about living a mile from school was that it was warm and cheery when you got there. The boys that lived close had to go early and start the fire and tend it. To my mind walking a mile in the snow was a lot more interesting than standing around a cold, old schoolhouse. Most of our friends were there when we arrived.

Polly Palmer was there in a brand-new, fur-trimmed red coat with matching boots. In one hand she held her old coat and in the other her old boots. Jessie, oh Jessie. There you are. My mother said that I should bring these along for you. I don’t want them anymore and she said you were poor and really needed them.

I reached out to hold Jessie back when to my astonishment I found her smiling sweetly at Polly and saying, Oh Polly, thank you so much. Your blue coat is so beautiful. Now I won’t need your green coat and I can share it with someone who will love it. Sarah, I’d very much like for you to have this green coat and when you wear it, we'll be like sisters. Everyone in the room heard the difference between Polly's and Jessie's gifts.

I know it must be hard for you to give up your blue coat, Polly. Blue has always been your favorite color and to have to wear a red coat all the time must be hard for you. If you knew Jessie as well as I did you'd know that those words were daggers aimed at Polly's heart.

Well maybe, maybe I want to keep my blue coat, Polly stammered.

That's not possible Polly, Miss Thompson, our teacher, wagged a finger in front of her face. Your mother told you to give the coat to Jessie and Jessie was kind enough to give her coat to Sarah. You can’t take it back now. Not another word; go to your seat.

Polly sat down in absolute misery; a red coat she didn’t want, a blue coat she couldn’t have, and scolded by her teacher all at the same time. Jessie sat down with a smile so bright it would've melted snow. Just about then I had a thought. I scribbled a note and passed it to Jessie. It said just one word, Orange.

Jessie turned just as Sarah plunged her hand into the pocket of her new green coat. Ohh, what's this. Out came the orange and the whole room went silent. Every eye turned to look at Jessie. Where did that come from? Jessie said as she played the innocent to perfection.

The class crowded around Sarah to admire the orange. Jessie was right with them. Polly, did you do that? Everyone looked at Polly who was seriously weighing the possibility of taking the credit when she noticed a stern look on Miss Thompson’s face.

It's not mine. I had mine Christmas morning and I didn’t have to share it with anybody. Polly tried her best to sound important but realized too late that she just sounded selfish. All eyes turned back to look at Jessie. Do you think that if I had an orange I wouldn’t tell everybody? Fifteen heads nodded, knowing that that was the truth; Jessie would surely have told everybody all about it.

I know where the orange came from. Fifteen pairs of eyes spun around to me. Jessie was halfway through bringing her finger to her lips to shush me when I said, Santa Claus. A ripple of laughter started around the room. No, I'm serious. No one else in this room, except Polly, has ever had an orange of their very own and only Santa Claus could have put that orange in Sarah's pocket and I'll bet you anything he did it just because Sarah is so good and kind. Sarah did bear a heavy burden of responsibility, caring for her father and little brother and never complaining.

Jack, you must be right. There was no orange in that pocket yesterday. If it's there today it must be because Santa Claus wanted Sarah to have it. Jessie had the look of someone who was telling the gospel truth. The only way to get an orange around here would be from Santa Claus or the general store. Polly, did your father order any oranges for the store this year?

Only the ones for our family; no one else could afford them. Once again Polly's try at important had ended up sounding arrogant.

So there you go; I was right. Santa Claus is the only place it could've come from. I folded my arms with a gesture of finality that left no room for further discussion. Fifteen sets of shoulders shrugged in resignation. There was no arguing with pure logic. Eliminate the impossible and whatever is left must be true.

Sarah sat, wrapped in her warm green coat; the orange in all its regal splendor perched on her desk, a beautiful smile on her face, and a little bit of a halo, put there by my kind words, around her head. Never was a daughter of God so content.

Jessie looked at me with wonder in her eyes. I had been absolutely correct when she had asked, Why us? The Good Lord had trusted us with a great gift and we had used our gift wisely and well. Jessie felt a little bit like an angel sent from heaven herself.

***

I’ve been thinking about this some. There’s a difference between secret and sacred. Everyone is given the knowledge and blessings, I guess, that they’re ready to receive. Our lot in life had humbled us so that we had no one to turn to but God. In our want, my mother’s heart was still willing to share all that we had with a stranger who needed as bad as us. That must’ve earned her a blessing from God.

Now if we’d gone and told everyone, people would’ve laughed at us and called us liars, because no one would believe that we deserved such a blessing and that they didn’t. So we will keep our counsels and joy in our blessing in private and not cast our pearls… and maybe, just maybe, God will trust us with more.

***

Chapter Three

VALENTINES

February 1866

I'm not going to do it. A one room schoolhouse in the deep winter woods was hardly a place for keeping secrets. But Jessie and I argued so often that most people just ignored us.

You have to Jack. It's important. Jessie insisted.

Miss Thompson said we don’t have to if we don’t want to and I don’t want to.

Don’t you like Sarah? Jessie asked.

Of course I do. What’s that got to do it?

If she doesn’t get a valentine it’ll break her heart. Jessie pleaded.

There’s not one boy in this school who’s going to give a girl a valentine. Sarah won’t be the only one with a broken heart. Miss Thompson told the boys that we didn’t need to do valentine's cards this year and we had all agreed that we wouldn’t.

I'll bet you that Peter does and so will Michael. Peter was Polly's little brother and Michael was Sarah's little brother.

Who would they give a valentine to anyway? I found it hard to believe that either of those young boys had a sweetheart.

Peter will give one to Polly. She'll make him do it. Jessie snapped.

Well that's possible but what about Michael? I knew that Sarah was so kindhearted that she would never ask Michael to do that.

Michael is going to give one to me. Jessie had her head down looking at the floor. She was actually blushing.

Why in the world would he do that? Michael practically idolized me and I couldn’t believe that he would break his word to the boys.

He may like you but he loves me. He thinks I'm an angel. I didn’t know what to say. It was probably true, too.

I can’t break my word to the other guys. I was weakening and Jessie moved in for the kill.

Jack, do you think Sarah is pretty? Jessie asked shyly.

I don’t know. I guess she's OK. Sarah was young and still in that kind of awkward stage.

"One day she’s going to be beautiful and then you'll be sorry you